


Night Terrors (the Dreamscape Remix)

by arcapelago (arcanewinter)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, F/M, Forgiveness, M/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/pseuds/arcapelago
Summary: After Charles steps down as headmaster of the school and a leader of the modern world, Erik tries to find him. But he can't say what he'll do when he does.





	Night Terrors (the Dreamscape Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princess_fluffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_fluffle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [NIGHT TERRORS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108819) by [princess_fluffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_fluffle/pseuds/princess_fluffle). 



Erik stood at the grave just after sunset. His shadow, which he had cast before him as he approached, had disappeared amongst the shadows of the many tall trees of the Westchester grounds, and the fiery glow in the sky behind him faded to cold, sterile blue.

Hers was not the only one. Other stones peopled the lawn, though the ground beneath some was empty. Alex Summers. Sean Cassidy. Armando Muñoz. Emma Frost. Angel Salvadore. And in his mind, two others, on the other side of the ocean, marked with far less of a show.

As for Jean Grey, it seemed the whole dusty, moss-covered estate was her tomb, her name emblazoned onto the plaque at the gate he'd passed through without fanfare, or resistance. Scott Summers could have been mourning anywhere instead of three yards behind him. Hank McCoy made more sense.

"You should have told me," Erik said. "I should have been here."

Hank didn't want to talk. It was apparent in the way his voice trudged and plodded like the last collapsing steps of a long and fruitless march.

"It didn't seem real. Couldn't invite you if it wasn't happening."

Erik turned to look at him just as Hank lifted his eyes. There was an indelible sadness there, but no apology. Of course not. The fault was not with him.

"Where is he?" Erik asked.

Scott's mouth was the same flat line as the visor concealing the rest of his expression. "We don't know."

And underneath it, perhaps, _we don't care._

*****

For four nights, receding further and further from the school and its occupants, he dreamt of Raven. On the fifth, he tried, and he failed.

He found himself where they'd met, at the ill-fated base of Division X--where she'd given him the name he'd first derided, later embraced, as he stood dumbfounded in a concrete courtyard littered with shattered glass and the tinny echoes of popular music. He looked for her there, straining to hear her voice, but he was alone.

Almost alone.

He quietly stepped through his memories of cold, straight hallways ringing with steel as much for function as for design. Emptiness both trailed and greeted him until he was outside again, where the white globe of the radar installation stood on a grassy slope.

He wanted to turn away, to categorically deny it and keep looking elsewhere, but the electronics inside the globe were coming to life with a hum, and he knew there was nothing else to seek in this place. There would be no one else.

Inside was just as he remembered it. Panels of dials and blinking lights crowded the edges of the space where in the middle stood a dais and a crown of circuitry that seemed almost prophetic for existing before the arrival of the man who would embody its purpose.

Its inventor was not there, at the consoles. But the man was, standing proudly with eyes closed and his hands folded behind him, outfitted in a double-breasted grey vest and enough confidence to carry an entire world forward. Hindsight tried to turn Erik's stomach, to assault him with the unbearable frustration of everything Charles' arrogance never saw coming--should have seen coming--but instead he was surprised by the strength of his fondness for this moment.

It was not an unfamiliar memory. Up until this moment, so long ago, Erik had been along for the ride, to see where it led, to judge and to use what and whom he could. But Charles had stepped up to a device whose workings he had not tested, made by a man he'd just met, and offered himself in the service of finding more new family, more brothers and sisters who might need help, or who might offer it. Erik had thought he was alone, and there stood Charles on the dais insisting he was not, _Let me show you, let me prove it to you._

Erik's memory anticipated the commotion and activity. The machine would engage, flooding Charles' mind with a hundred lives a second. The rat-a-tat of the coordinates would fill the space with the sounds of success and accomplishment. Erik resigned himself to reliving the thrill of it, the unexpected joy of it, if this was the dream he had to have.

But as he assumed his role, as he watched Charles' face, the moment did not move forward. Silence engulfed the rising whine from the machine. When Charles opened his eyes they were not wide and unseeing, but resting on Erik, seeing him, through the ages, through time. His lips toyed with a faint smile, an intimate curve of the mouth that felt right for the time but which Erik had forgotten had ever been shared with him.

"I wasn't expecting you here," said Charles. His lips barely moved, but his eyes made a brief survey of Erik's figure: rusty hair cropped close, a weeks-old shave, eyes more deeply lined, hands a little rougher. He removed the helm of wires and left the dais, his fingers trailing over the bannister until he stepped down, eye-level with Erik. "Not you, specifically. You're well, I hope."

 _Well?_ Erik almost snarled, but Charles' expression was so open and guileless that he stifled it. "Where are you, Charles?"

"Don't you know? You found me." Charles gave a little smile that should have angered Erik, but something stopped him again. Nostalgia stopped him. Longing stopped him. "This is my dream, you know," Charles said.

Erik watched him. He forced himself to be still. To consider.

Charles was dreaming here, of this place, the seat of ignorance, of innocence. Before either of them had committed the worst mistakes of their adult lives. Of the dawn of their leadership, at a time it seemed they were destined to lead together. Anything had been possible, those few weeks, a precious handful of weeks thirty years ago. A sliver of time, and a place, and a feeling they could never return to.

But they were both there, now. They were both here.

Erik lifted his hand, boldly turning a curl of Charles' hair in his fingertips, nearly touching his face. Charles didn't flinch.

 _You don't know,_ Erik thought. _You don't know anything that's coming._ For all the infuriating trust and innocence in the way Charles looked at him, Erik could have wept.

"The average mind has very clever ways of protecting itself," Charles offered, aloud, but quietly. His eyes had fallen to Erik's mouth. "Imagine what mine must do."

 _Oh, don't I._ Erik sighed. Damn Charles' mind. Damn the intoxicating allure of it, of the expanse of its power, of its destructiveness, of its potential. _Damn you._

Erik stepped in to him, deliberate, and assertive. The back of Charles' vest was smooth and warm under his fist. Charles' lips had parted, as though he were surprised, as though he'd forgotten this, too--or maybe he only wanted to, so it could be the first time again, the first loss of control, the first thoughtless risk of discovery. And the second, and the third, and the addiction of losing count entirely.

Erik could feel Charles' breath on his lips. His arm tightened around Charles' waist, but Charles didn't give in to him. Instead, he felt Charles' grip on his arm, halting him.

"You're angry with me," Charles said. For a moment he didn't move--Erik didn't want him to--but then he lifted his face until he met Erik's gaze. "Why?"

Erik pushed no further. Again, he sighed, but there was no relish in it now, only weariness, another sweetness reluctantly accepted but then denied to him. He stepped away from Charles and let himself out of the installation. Outside, the sun was shining, but it was too bright. It hurt his eyes, and he kept walking down the grassy slope until Charles took hold of his hand and refused to walk further.

Erik turned back. Charles' eyes were as blue and as bright as the sky. His boyish confidence had fallen away, but his optimism was stubborn, as though he could fix this, he could fix anything. Anyone. "Tell me what I've done."

It seemed cruel now. Erik would be lying if he didn't admit that he'd hated Charles for his arrogance, for his flippancy, for his refusal to believe that things could and would go wrong. He'd hated him for risking the lives of mutants, people, Erik cared about. He'd hated him for being unwilling to make the difficult decisions, the right decisions. It was a real hatred. A legitimate hatred. But Erik couldn't find it now, not like that.

"I'll tell you what I've done, instead," he answered.

Charles looked genuinely surprised. Erik didn't let it stop him.

"In the prime of your life I will injure you, irrevocably. Permanently. I will abandon you--you'll be right about that--and I'll betray you. Time and again. I will sell you out."

Charles stared at him with a frown, but there was more to say, despite the pleas of Erik's staggering regret.

"I will take your allies from you. I will nearly kill the people you love. I will nearly kill you, out of carelessness. I will try to destroy the world. I will cost you." It was absurd to say it all. But it was true. "It seems I will never stop."

"But I will forgive you," countered Charles. "Won't I? We're both here, now. Just because someone loses his way--" 

A cloud passed in front of the sun. Its shadow engulfed them, flickering on Charles' face before it settled more permanently. Charles' hand still gripped Erik's. Erik's hand turned to grip it back.

The grass under their feet was cold and sodden now. The radar installation was gone, and the concrete of the Division X compound had segmented into the stone of the Xavier mansion. Heavy clouds hung overhead and the smell of rain was pungent in the air though it had ceased to fall.

This was no longer familiar to Erik. He had not been there. But he knew where the grave had been dug, just beside them, where Charles wouldn't look. He could smell the turned earth.

"Just because someone loses his way," Charles repeated, but it was obvious now how hard he was trying to focus on Erik's face. There was too much to see, here. Too much to know.

It was starting to rain again. Erik could hear it, pelting the roof, falling hard on the leaves, and yet he couldn't feel it though above him was only dark, open sky. It wasn't raining _here._

He was waking up.

"Tell me where you are, Charles," he said. He nearly shouted it, and could barely be heard. He let go of Charles' hand to cup his face instead. _Look at me._ "Where are you?"

"What have I done?" Charles' eyes were wild now. He covered Erik's hands with his own, shielding his face, his conscience, but it was too late. "What have I done?!"

 _Tell me where you are!_ \--

*****

Erik woke alongside a peal of thunder, halfway out of the bed, ready to run--not away, but toward. The storm outside posed no threat, or obstacle, or care at all.

He only needed the direction. An aim. _Where are you?_

He sat back down on the bed, slowing his breath, and listened. He willed Charles to find him again, but the thunder drowned out all else, and the lightning on his eyelids left no other images behind it.

Yet he already knew, didn't he? Paris.

_I am coming to you, Charles._

_I will bring you home._


End file.
